


Requiem

by Pokkiwrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, also most relationships arent explicitly shown just hinted at, and some dont even get to be a relationship, dont get attached im serious, i kill them all, like so many fucking deaths, major character deaths, they just stay crushes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-01-21 21:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12466152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokkiwrites/pseuds/Pokkiwrites
Summary: look basically i remembered how pumped i used to be for the hunger games and decided i wanted a cross over. sue me.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make a hunger games au. I purposefully made it way before the 74th when the book takes place bc theres lots of things and characters that i dont remember. lots of this is just from my memory from when i read the books and quick wikipedia searches.

**Chapter One**

 

**55th Hunger Games**

 

**District Two, Day of The Reaping.**

 

Kuroo is already awake by the time the sunrises over the mountains. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly for the past week, having been filled with nothing but anxiety for the day of his final Reaping. He knows that he should be filled with excitement in place of his nervousness, but he can’t help but feel his fingers shake at the thought of today’s events. He wants it to go by quick, to just go through the motions one more time and never have to worry about the damned annual ceremony ever again, but he knows that’s too much to hope for. Instead, he waits, slowly and painfully, outside of his home. He had left a note for his mother to read when she finally wakes, telling her that he would be spending time at the Kozume household before the Reaping, but he knows she would have been able to figure that out nonetheless. Still, it would feel inappropriate not to leave her some sort of note on this day. With a groan, Kuroo pushes himself up off of the stoop leading to his front door, and begins the familiar walk to the next neighborhood over.

 

Kuroo still feels guilty for abandoning his mother on the day of The Reaping, knowing what the ceremony means for her personally, but he can’t face her. Not today. _ Next year,  _ he promises himself.  _ Next year I’ll be there for her.  _

 

He saunters over to Kenma’s front door, forcing himself to slip back into his typical scheming personality. He needs some shred of normalcy today, even if he has to fake it. He bounds up the steps to the front door, sliding his hand out of the pocket of the nicest pair of trousers he owns, and gives three quick raps against the wooden door. He lets his arm hang back down against his side as he puts his weight on his right leg, instead of placing it back into his pocket. The morning air is ice against his pale hand, quickly reddening the skin of his fingertips, but he ignores the chill. It won’t matter in a few moments anyhow, once Kenma invites him inside.

 

The door opens a crack, and one golden eye peers out at him from inside. Kuroo tilts his head to the side, giving him a sly smirk. “Goodmorning sunshine,” He purrs out in a sarcastic tone, knowing damn well how much Kenma absolutely loathes waking up early. There’s an annoyed huff on the other side of the door and then it’s quickly being shut in Kuroo’s face. He chuckles lightheartedly at the effect he has on the other and hurriedly shoves his foot in the doorframe. The wood squishes against his freshly polished shoes for half a second before the resistance is gone. There’s a sigh, and then the door is opened reluctantly. Then there is just Kenma, standing in front of him. His hair, which is normally left down to frame his face, has been pulled back neatly, combed in a way so that his overgrown roots are barely even able to be seen amongst the rest of his blonde hair. His typical red windbreaker and sweats have been replaced by a cream coloured sweater and slacks, causing Kuroo to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the sight. However, much to Kuroo’s delight, Kenma’s usual bored expression has not changed, keeping yet another slice of normal everyday life in tact. It’s just what he needed to see this morning. Kenma moves to side, a gesture that Kuroo recognizes as an invitation inside, which he gladly accepts. 

 

Normally, Kuroo would remove his shoes before stepping foot into Kenma’s home, but his knows that today it is unnecessary. Rather, he simply walks inside and bites back the urge to ruffle Kenma’s hair so he won’t ruin it. He settles for placing his hand on his shoulder instead, and it’s a sign of how The Reaping is affecting Kenma as well when the younger boy actually welcomes the touch instead of shrugging Kuroo’s hand away. Kuroo’s smirk falls at the realization. Digging his fingers into Kenma’s shoulder, he flips him around and shoves him face first against his chest. The boy muffles some sort of lazily thought out insult towards him, before melting into the embrace half a second later. Kuroo wraps his arms around his torso tightly, pressing his cheek against the top of his head. He could care less about ruining his hair anymore, he just wants this small moment, before he goes back to pretending everything is fine. To pretending that he isn’t terrified out of his damn mind. The two of them stay like that, Kenma hiding himself in Kuroo’s dress shirt, and Kuroo clutching his friend to his chest, until Kenma’s mother enters the room. Kuroo noticed her first, being as Kenma had his face buried in his chest. He tried to ignore the burn of the flush in his cheeks as he cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from her knowing smile and gently pushing Kenma away from him. For a brief second, Kuroo saw a glint of worry flash in Kenma’s eyes, but it vanished before Kuroo even realized what it was. The boy’s face went blank once more, and he turned to head into the kitchen. His mother winked at them both before flitting away back into the kitchen as well. Kenma reached his arm out behind him, his fingers asking for Kuroo’s without even looking back at him. Kuroo’s smile returned, albeit smaller than before, and he gladly took his hand to intertwine their fingers. He followed the shorter boy towards the table, eyeing the scraggly pieces of bacon and eggs on the plates set out for them both. Of course his mother set a place for Kuroo as well, but it still made his chest warm at the thought of it. She had her back turned to the boys, humming a melody that Kuroo didn’t recognize softly to herself as she dried the dishes she had washed earlier. Kenma’s fingers slipped from his as he pulled out a chair for himself, and Kuroo tried not to let the disappointment get to him. He dragged out a chair for himself and sat down next to him, staring down at his plate and trying to push down the feeling of guilt when he thought of the empty cupboards at his home. His mind flashed to him adding his name into the Reaping lottery as many times as he was allowed to so that he could apply for tesserae to feed him and his mother. The thought of the Reaping brings a bitter taste into his mouth, but it is instantly washed away when he feels Kenma’s knee knock against his own under the table. He looks up at the other boy, shocked, to try to see if it had been on accident. Kenma doesn’t look up at him, shoving another piece of bacon into his face, and simply pretends that Kuroo doesn’t even exist, but his knee doesn’t move. Kuroo gives a small smile and holds his gaze on Kenma for another short moment, before smothering his grin and looking down at his own plate. He picks up his fork and stabs at his eggs, the melody Kenma’s mom is singing and the feeling of his knee leaning on his own drowns out all his worries about today’s later events, and he just eats and enjoys the rest of his morning before he has to endure the inevitable. 

 

An hour after breakfast, Kuroo and Kenma were in the center of their district, crowded alongside every other teenaged boy that had their name entered into the Reaping. The atmosphere was suffocating and Kuroo tightened his hand against Kenma’s own, refusing to look down at the other boy as he did so. Soon, they would have to separate and join their peers in the designated age-groups in the town square, but for now, Kuroo made sure to clutch Kenma tighter in his grip. The line in front of them trudged on as the boys standing before them were signed into the Reaping, each step forward causing Kuroo’s anxiety to pitch higher. Kenma still managed to keep his face blank, but he could feel how clammy his hands were against his, and he gave him an extra squeeze in an attempt at comfort. Neither of them looked at each other, both staring straight ahead at the boys in front of them, but Kuroo felt a small squeeze back, and had to fight back a smile at the feel of it. 

 

It took ten minutes before they made it to the front of the line. Before them stood two peacekeepers, looming tall and intimidating over them. Despite Kuroo being tall himself, he still had to look up in order to make eye contact with the two. He stepped in front of Kenma protectively, staring blankly into the reflective helmets of the two men. He had released Kenma’s hand a few minutes ago, not wanting anyone to view him or Kenma as weak for their sign of affection. Keeping his face emotionless, he thrust his hand forward, his palm facing upwards, and extended his pointer finger to them. The man on the right grabbed his wrist harshly, yanking him forward rough enough that he stumbled and had to catch himself so he wouldn’t fall. He let a sneer sneak through his otherwise expressionless face, growling ever so quietly as the peacekeeper pricked his finger in order to draw blood. Next to him, Kenma couldn’t help but jump a little as his own blood was drawn, but Kuroo’s focus was drawn back to the peacekeeper who still held his arm, smearing his blood on the parchment. The man gave his wrist a final squeeze before shoving him backwards and demanding a loud “Next!” to the poor soul behind him. Walking away from the man, Kuroo finally allowed himself to glower at the dirt floor, his fingers slowly curling into a fist beside him and wiping blood on his palm. Kenma stepped next to him, managing a bored look. Kuroo glanced over to look to look at him, his anger dissipating in his chest. He placed a hand on his shoulder once more, not caring about the small blood stain that was seeping through his nicest sweater. “I’ll see you after,” he promised, voice low. “And I’ll teach you how to throw better.” He smiled, referencing their occasional knife throwing lessons that Kuroo would give.

 

When he had been younger, Kuroo’s mother had enrolled him in District Two’s finest tribute training academy, just in case. There he had learned skills that best fit him, which were survival techniques, basic combat, and knife throwing. He had enjoyed the classes when he was too young to properly realize what they were, but made his mother stop sending him after his first reaping. Besides, it had been way too expensive for them anyhow, and Kuroo never wanted the opportunity to have to use what he learned from the school. 

 

Kenma nodded once and then stalked off to where the 17 year-old boys had all been gathered. He watched him disappear into the crowd, rubbing his bloodied finger against his thumb as he did so. When he lost sight of Kenma’s blonde hair, he turned towards the 18 year-olds, and made his way over to join them. Among them were some familiar faces, he recognized an old classmate, but couldn’t place the name. Yaku, perhaps? Other than Kenma, Kuroo had never bothered to meet other people or expand his social circle, despite being rather extroverted. He simply hadn’t had any interest in making other friends, a trait that was shared by Kenma. The two had each other, they always would, and it was enough for them. 

 

On stage, there was two crystal bowls, filled to the brim with scraps of paper, each piece contained a name of somebody standing around him. Absentmindedly, Kuroo thought about how many of those slips had his name on them. He was 18, which meant that there were at least seven that held his name on them, added the two extras he had put in for tesserae. He thinks back to when he signed up for tesserae, there only being about four other people there with him. It was a humiliating task, having to add your name for some extra grain because you were too poor to afford basic food. He had only recognized a single person who had signed up with him, a boy, with silvery blonde hair and limbs too long for his body. He couldn’t think of his name, but he knew him from Kenma. He had claimed his dislike for the boy a couple months back, mentioning something about a cat and a tree that had resulted in him falling on his face and nearly breaking his nose. Kuroo had laughed when he first heard the story, but seeing the boy in line for tesserae had made him feel guilty and foolish for it. 

 

There were five people on the stage. Two he recognized as the most recent victors, a man and a woman, both of whom would be escorting the reaped to the capital and would serve as mentors for the unlucky couple who would be reaped. He couldn’t remember the male mentor, but instantly recognized the woman. Her name was Lyme, and she had won the 53rd Hunger Games, two years prior to this year’s Reaping. She was 18 when she had gone to the games, placing her at 20 years-old now. She was attractive enough, with blonde hair and standing at least six feet tall. Kuroo remembered watching as she maliciously beat one of the other tributes to death with a fist shaped rock during her games, and the thought sent a shiver through him. He looked away from her, instead choosing to take in the mess of a capital escort they had this year. He didn’t really recognize him, so he figured that he must be new this year. The man looked utterly ridiculous, covered from head to toe in bright orange tiger fur. His face was painted as well, with added tiger stripes slashed across his cheeks. The sight was amusing, and Kuroo could bet that Kenma was mocking the man as he pranced- literally pranced- towards the microphone that stood between the two bowls. 

 

“Hello!” he cheered into the mic, waving his arms around flamboyantly. “It is time,” the Tiger announced cheerfully, his voice pitched higher than Kuroo assumed it naturally was. Maybe he was nervous to be speaking in front of a huge crowd like this. Or maybe, that was how Tiger made his voice sound, maybe it was another dumb Capital fad that men were doing. Either way, it made Tiger seem even more like a buffoon, and he literally could not wait to sit with Kenma and make fun of him together. “To see which of you, will have the honor to represent District Two in the annual 55th Hunger Games.” Kuroo bit down on his bottom lip and chewed on it roughly, having to fight to hold back a giggle at the fact that this man was rolling his R’s. “Since it is typically ladies first, I thought it could be a bit more fun to switch it up!” Kuroo’s chest seized at his words. Tiger ambled over towards the boy’s bowl, and Kuroo could feel himself and everyone around him tense as he sank his brightly colored hand into the bowl. Kuroo’s throat felt like it had vacuumed sealed shut as he watched the Capital idiot swirl his hand around the countless folded up slips of paper within the bowl. After what felt like ages, the man swiftly yanked his hand back out of the bowl and lifted the piece of paper high in the air, as though it were a prize for everyone to see. He smiled at the crowd as he mosied back to the microphone. Using his pinky nail, which had been filed to a point in attempt to look like a claw, he tore the piece of tape and flipped the paper open. Tiger leaned forward into the microphone and took a dramatic pause before shouting out the name for everyone to hear. 

 

“A mister Kuroo Tetsurou!” The voice rang out, echoing loudly inside of Kuroo’s skull. The boys around him anxiously turned to look and glance over at him, while some others were busy breathing a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been them. Kuroo, himself, heard a high pitched ringing in his ears for a moment and, before he could stop himself, broke out into a fit of laughter. It was loud, and sincere, washing over the other citizens of District Two like it was nothing.  _ It’s a joke!  _ He thought to himself, laughing even harder that he had to raise his hand and cover his mouth. He waited, for someone else to volunteer, as one would usually do. This was a career district after all, somebody else who wanted this more than he does would have to volunteer. 

 

His laughter slowly died out when he realized that no volunteer was coming forward. A smile still tugged on his face though, as he scanned the crowd around him and waited foolishly for someone to raise their hand and demand a spot in the games. When nobody did, Kuroo’s smile twitched, and he quickly spun around to look behind him in search of a sign of someone else volunteering. His eyebrows pulled down and he snapped his head back towards the stage. Tiger was giving him a tight lipped smile, probably irritated that it was taking him so long to move. Kuroo felt his chest tighten and his ears began to burn, showing telltale signs of a panic attack on the rise. He still couldn’t force himself to move, but he refused to let himself have an attack and seem weak to the other tributes. Other tributes. He was a tribute now. Fuck.

 

Tiger cleared his throat into the microphone and Kuroo noticed that same Peacekeeper that took his blood stomp towards him. Kuroo flinched away unconsciously as the man painfully grabbed his upper arm and yanked him out of the crowd. He stumbled as he was brought out into the open, and the man behind him shoved the butt of his gun into his back, commanding him to move forward. So he did. He legs carried him to the stage, and then up the stairs leading up to the stage, and stopped him right before Tiger. Up close, Kuroo could now see that his face had been surgically altered, his cheeks puffed out from his face unnaturally, and had faux whiskers attached to his skin. His eyes were a striking yellow color,and his pupils had been changed from circles, to catlike slits. The image startled Kuroo, and he sneered at the sight of him. He was even uglier this close, and Kuroo was horrified at the thought that his face would probably haunt him in his nightmares. Tiger saw his disgust, it seemed,and took offense to it. He had at one point offered his hand for Kuroo to shake, he wasn’t sure when he had done that, but he was quick to take it away. He gave the boy a low snarl, before turning merrily back to the crowd. 

 

“Well then, now that we have our first tribute, let’s grab our lovely little lady, and we shall be off!” He announced, being obvious to turn his entire body away from Kuroo. Tiger marched over to the other bowl, but Kuroo had lost interest in paying any attention to him any longer. Instead, his eyes raked over the crowd, in search of Kenma, or even his mother, just someone he recognized. He made eye contact with Kenma’s mother instead, and held her gaze. She looked just as horrified as he felt. She held her hands over her mouth and didn’t attempt to hold back her sobs. Her tears ran freely down her cheeks, the sight breaking Kuroo’s heart. He had never seen her look so upset before. He wasn’t able to look away from her, and she kept her eyes on him as well. Probably some sort of attempt at comfort for him. Kuroo didn’t hear the name of his other tribute, nor did he even look in her direction until Tiger yanked him by the shoulder to face her. She was smiling at him and had her hand outstretched for him to shake. He took it, but didn’t shake her hand. She didn’t seem to mind though, quickly and happily bouncing their hands up and down. Tiger thanked the crowd for joining them today and hurriedly ushered Kuroo and the nameless girl into the Hall of Justice building through the doors behind them. 

 

Kuroo had never been inside the Hall of Justice before, but he isn’t allowed any chance to look around or take anything in. Rather, he’s rushed quickly into his waiting room, where he’s shoved inside and then promptly locked in. Now would be the perfect time to freak out, where there are no cameras, no Capital freaks, no weirdly happy tribute girls, but he can’t. Instead, he feels weird; empty. As though there is no room left inside of him to express any sort of emotion at all. So he stands in the middle of the room, staring at a strange and almost abstract painting of President Snow that is hanging beside the door. He tilts his head to the side, taking in as much of the painting as he can. It’s weird to be so focused on the painting, he knows, but it’s a good task to keep his mind off of what just happened. 

 

After deciding that the white blob of paint on Snow’s left breast pocket must be a daisy or a rose of some sort, he hears muffled voices on the other side of the door. He glances over at the door handles, assuming that it must be the mentors or Tiger, coming to take him to the train to the Capital. When the doors open, however, it isn’t the three he had expected. 

 

“Mom,” he breathes softly, a watery laugh escaping his lips at the sight of her. Her dark hair has fallen out of her usual braid, and it hangs over shoulders in a mess, but Kuroo could care less. “Mom!” he cries, rushing towards her and pulling her into his chest. He buried his face into her shoulder and holds her as close to him as he can. He doesn’t want to think about the last time she had been in this room, hugging his father much like this and having to tell him at the worst time at her being pregnant. So he tries his best not to. “I’m sorry,” he sobs pathetically to her, gripping the fabric of the back of her dress in between his fingers. “I’m sorry.” She just shakes her head and snakes her arms around his waist. 

 

“Don’t apologize,” Says a voice from in front of him. Kuroo squints one eye open to see Kenma standing before him, his mother, still weeping, is behind him. Kenma looks angrier than he has ever seen before, even angrier than when he was talking about that guy from the tesserae who had given him a nosebleed. His fists are balled at his side and he’s glaring at the floor. Kuroo refuses to let go of his mother, but he reaches his hand out for Kenma to take. The younger boy’s hardened expression fades, and he looks up at Kuroo with a pained expression. Slowly, Kenma stretches out his hand and interlocks their hands together. 

 

The three of them stay like that until Tiger returns with his peacekeepers and march Kuroo away from his family and his home.

  
  
  
  


**District Eleven, Day of The Reaping.**

 

Asahi stands in front of his mirror in the bathroom, smoothing out the wrinkles in his sweater for about the thousandth time. He frowns at his appearance and briefly wonders about shaving his beard. Is it too unkempt? Would it be seen as too wild, or make him seem way older than eighteen? Would the peacekeepers even take his attendance or would they think that he’s too old and refuse? If they refused would he have to go to prison for not signing up for the Reaping even though he tried-

 

There was a pounding on his door, startling him so bad that jumps, and a strong voice shouted to him from behind it. “Yo!,” the voiced yelled gruffly. It was his oldest brother, Akio, and Asahi forced his heart to stop racing. “Nishinoya is here for you, hurry up before he decided better of it and leaves you alone.” He teases, meaning nothing by the statement. Akio was one to make lighthearted jabs, but they never held any sort of truth to them. He was probably the kindest of the three Azumane boys, and the one most loved by just about everyone in the district. He had always been popular in classes and had gone on to become a harvester, going out to the town market and selling his goods with nothing but his charm and popularity. Asahi envied his ability to get everyone and anyone to like him, but he’d long come to terms with the fact that he’d never be anything like that. Asahi was happy enough with friend Noya, and Noya’s friend Tanaka. The two of them had taken Asahi under their wings so fast when they met that his head had spun, despite that fact that Asahi was older than them by one year. Neither of them seemed to mind his age or his bumbling awkwardness, and made the giant mess feel at home in their group. 

 

Asahi gave himself once last look over in the mirror, straightening out his sweater one final time, before pulling the rickety old door open to find Noya sitting right there at the dinner table waiting for him. The other boy smiled brightly when he saw him, and Asahi’s eyes were drawn to the absence of his trademark blonde streak in his dark hair. Noya followed his eyes up to his hairline, frowning when he saw the once bright patch of hair was now blended in to the rest of the black locks. “Mom made me hide it with shoe polish for the Reaping,” he mused woefully, and now that he pointed it out, Asahi could make out a difference in tone where the blonde used to be. It was browner than the rest of his hair, but it didn’t stick out as much as the blonde had. Noya gives an annoyed puff of air and crosses his arms, sinking lower in his chair. “I know, I hate it too.” He grumbles, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. 

 

Asahi gives a humbled smile, stepping out of the bathroom and closer to Noya. “I dunno,” He mumbled, getting a closer look at it. “I think it’s kind of… cute.” He says softly, his cheeks instantly heating up at his words. He pulls back quickly and clears his throat, stuttering a bit before hurrying to change the subject before Noya has a chance to realize the humiliating thing that he just told him. “H-How many times did you enter in the tesserae this year?” He sputters out finally, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Noya gives him a crooked smirk, lifting his chin up in the air. “As many times as they allowed of course, have to bring food to my family somehow right? What about you? This is your last year for it right, after today, your family’ll never have to worry ‘bout the Reaping again, huh?”

 

It’s true, Asahi was the youngest member of the Azumane household, and now that he was 18, this would be his last year having to stress about the Reaping. However, that also meant that he wouldn’t be eligible for tesserae anymore, which would be a huge hit to their income, even with Akio’s magical selling abilities. Asahi frowned at the reminder, and Noya quickly tried to backtrack. “Uh, shit, sorry, forget I said anything. How’s Tabby?” he tried instead, causing Asahi to chuckle at the mention of his cat. He had found the poor thing years ago while he had been walking home from having dinner at Noya’s. It was pouring rain and the kitty had been covered in mud. Feeling pity for it, Asahi had snuck it into the house and given it a bath, only to discover that it had bright orange fur. Unoriginally, he named the thing Tabby and fed it portions of his dinner secretly every night, until his other brother, Akihiro had caught Asahi sneaking food back into their shared room.

 

“She’s fine,” he told him, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Sleeping probably. The Reaping is starting soon, don’t you think we should hurry to find Tanaka and go?” Noya shrugged and waved his hand, giving Asahi an exasperated look. “Oh Tanaka’s off with some girl he met a couple weeks ago, but we probably should get going.” He leaps out of the chair in front of Asahi, who takes a few startled steps back. Noya reaches behind him for his black blazer, which Asahi is quick to recognize as a hand-me-down from Noya’s older brother from a few Reapings back. He doesn’t mention it, and holds the front door open for Noya to leave out of. They make small talk as they head to the Town Square where the Reaping will take place, but neither of them are really focused on it. Truth is, both of them are pretty uneasy about today’s event, even Noya, who Asahi always perceived as fearless, has a slight shake to his voice. He mentions that Tanaka has been seeing this girl from the grade below him, a blonde girl whose name has slipped Noya’s mind, but he doesn’t seem to care all that much. Asahi simply nods along and asks a question about his studies when it grows too quiet between them, but otherwise can’t keep his mind off the Reaping. 

 

When they arrive at the Town Square, Tanaka catches up with them. His normally hyper self has been reduced to a somber state, and he wishes Asahi goodluck before slipping off with Noya to their age group, leaving the older boy alone with his thoughts. He routinely heads to the peacekeepers standing in front of the eighteen year-old boys and is surprised to see that there is hardly a line he needs to wait in. They must’ve gotten here pretty late, but at least they didn’t wait long enough for the keepers to come pounding on their doors and dragging them off to jail. The thought alone is enough to make Asahi shudder, but he steps forwards obediently to have his blood drawn to mark his attendance. He winces at the feeling of the prick and has to look away when they smear it on the paper to test. He pops his finger in his mouth to suck at the small wound as he heads off to meet the other boys in the center. 

 

The stage in front of him is practically empty, with no previous victors sitting there, waiting to be mentors to the poor souls that get Reaped this year. It isn’t as though their district has never had winners of the games before, but it seems that it has been decades since one of their own has won. The last victor from their district that he can remember died before even Akio was old enough to join the Reaping, and Asahi can’t even remember if it had been a man or a woman who passed. The only person on stage is the escort from the Capital, dressed completely in a gaudy red jumpsuit. Her suit is adorned in some sort of red jewel as well, and her hair is long enough to brush against the floor of the stage, the wind picking it up and having it blow slightly behind her. She smiles brightly at the crowd before her, wishing everyone a good Reaping and going on about how excited she is to see her “favorite district.” Asahi can’t help but notice how utterly out of place she looks, a bright red dot in the middle of an overwhelming and bleary sea of grey. “Now then!” She speaks joyfully, and Asahi absentmindedly realizes that he’s still sucking on his finger. He spots the boy to his left glance at his lips in a poorly disguised look of judgement, and he quickly pulls his finger from between his lips. He feels the tips of his ears burn in embarrassment, and he shoves his hand into his pocket while he stares at the toes of his shoes. “Who will be our lucky lady this year?” The woman, Asahi suddenly remembers her name as Flora, singsongs. Flora bounds over happily to the girl’s crystal ball, her hair swishing from side to side behind her. She dips her gloved hand into the bowl and purses her lips, swirling her fingers around inside of the bowl for a quick moment. She laughs and snatches out a random paper, giddily running back over to the mic. She hums happily into the microphone as she dramatically opens the paper, and gasps, flipping the small thing around as if those in the crowd are able to read it from here. Or maybe she’s showing the camera’s that are broadcasting this event back to the Capital and other districts. “Yachi Hitoka!” She cries out, smiling so wide that Asahi is sure her cheeks are going to rip. Asahi looks over as the crowd parts around a small girl in the first years section, and if he weren’t so wound tight by his own nerves, he probably would’ve felt bad for how terrified the poor girl looked. It took her a couple moments to move, but with a quick gesture from Flora, Yachi slowly started inching her way through the crowd. The entire place was completely silent, so her muffled cries were amplified over the entire center. Asahi looked away from the stage as she made her way to stand next to Flora, terrified for the next name that would be pulled out. Flora welcomes Yachi and gives her a small round of applause. “You should be so honored!” Flora tells her cheerfully. “You will be representing your wonderful district in front of the whole nation! Many girls would kill for a chance like yours.” She giggles over her pun, gleefully clapping for herself once again. “Alright gentlemen,” She smirks over to where Asahi and the rest of the teenaged boys are standing, causing his blood to turn to ice. “Your turn!” 

 

All Asahi can hear is the clicking of her impossibly high heeled shoes against the stage as she heads towards the crystal ball that holds Asahi’s and everyone around hims name in it. He watches her sink her hand into the bowl, but squeezes his eyes shut as soon as she grabs onto a slip of paper. He listens to her shoes again, and then knows she made it to the mic when he hears her clear her throat as it echoes through the dead silent crowd. Asahi clenches his hands tightly into fists as she reads the name written on the paper. His eyes snap open and he feels his heart stop beating. “Nishinoya Yuu!” 

 

Asahi whips his head up to see the boys surrounding Noya quickly move from him, as though his name being called was contagious, and it might happen to them next if they weren’t quick enough. Asahi can’t see his face from where he is, but he stares hard at the back of his head, watching as it drops and he slowly starts to make his way towards the aisle. Asahi’s throat is dry as he watches Noya leave the safety of the crowd, until he is all alone on his way up to the stage. Softly, under his breath and so quietly that only the boy next to him hears it, he says, “I volunteer…” The boy beside him snaps his head over to look at him incredulously, unable to believe that someone would volunteer in district eleven. The boy shushes him harshly, probably to save Asahi’s own life, but he doesn’t care. He takes a step forward and a deep breath. Shooting his hand into the air, Asahi shouts. “I volunteer as tribute!”

 

Flora’s eyes nearly bug out of her skull, and the entire district seems to turn their eyes to him. Asahi swallows down his fear, shoving his anxiety to the back of his mind so he can have a panic attack at another time. Flora laughs in excitement, looking back at Asahi as though he is the most brilliant thing she’s ever seen. Happily, she waves him forward, eagerly speaking into the microphone. “My goodness! A volunteer! I have never seen someone so brave and so willing to honor their district before!” Noya has stopped in his tracks, not looking back at Asahi behind him. “Well, c’mon, c’mon,” Flora urges him. It takes him a moment, but then Asahi is moving his feet, one in front of the other, towards the stage. But his eyes aren’t on Flora, they’re trained on Noya, who he’s quickly reaching with each step. As he grows closer, he can see now that he’s shaking in his place, his fists balled at his sides. When Asahi steps past him, Noya reaches out to grab his sweater by the sleeve. Startled, Asahi looks down to meet his eyes, and is surprised at how angry they are. “Fuck you,” He spits at him, words seething with rage. It’s quiet enough that only Asahi is able to hear it, and his mouth drops open at the phrase. They stay attached for a moment, Noya glaring at Asahi with so much anger that it nearly makes Asahi drop to his knees. He’s never looked at him this way before, and he has no idea what to make of it. Asahi watches Noya as he speaks again, his heart growing heavy with the weight of his words. “I will never forgive you.” 

 

Above them, Flora calls to him, and Noya drops his hand from Asahi’s sweater. He doesn’t move from his spot though, but Asahi must climb the stairs. He manages his way up to the stage on adrenaline alone, and out of habit, shakes Flora’s hand when she reaches out to him. She smiles brightly at him, asking for his name. He murmurs it softly, quickly losing confidence as the reality of what he’s just done creeps up on him.

 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She asks again, this time shoving the microphone directly under Asahi’s nose. The motion causes Asahi to stumble back and suck in a startled breath. He stutters, trying not to look out at the crowd. “Uh- um, A-Azumane Asahi.” He whispers into the mic, making Flora squeal in joy. This close to her, Asahi can notice some small jewel fragments embedded into her long eyelashes to match the ones on her suit. She turns back to the audience. “How exciting!” She exclaims, taking Asahi’s wrist and raising it in the air. “Our district’s very own volunteer!” In the back of his mind, Asahi protests to her referring to their district as hers as well, but figures there’s not much fight in him to mention it. Instead he simply shakes Yachi’s hand when Flora tells him to and allows her to cart them both off inside the Hall of Justice building. 

 

Asahi sits in the room that he had been brought into. The chair he’s sitting in is without a doubt the most comfortable thing he’s ever felt, even more comfortable than his bed at home. The cushions are made of the softest fabric and he runs his fingers along the wooden armrest, feeling the grooves under his fingertips. The door to the room he’s in opens up and he looks up to see his brothers and parents run inside. Asahi barely has enough time to stand up from his seat before his brothers tackle him, dropping them all to the floor. He lets out a groan as his elbow connects painfully with the carpet, but doesn’t complain. He laughs humorlessly, patting Akio’s back. “Hi guys,” he says somberly. 

 

“You fucking idiot,” Akihiro responds through a stifled sob. There’s a hand in his hair, gripping so tightly that Asahi feels like his scalp might start screaming. Another hand smacks him against the chest. 

 

“You were this fucking close,” It’s Akio who speaks then, burying his face in his shoulder. “All you had to do was not open your goddamn mouth-”

 

“And let Noya get Reaped instead?” Asahi asks, shutting him up. Obviously, Asahi knew his brothers weren’t going to be happy at all when he volunteered, but he knows that both of his brothers love Noya just as much as him and see him as another part of the family. Asahi can hear his mother crying in the front of the room, can feel the wet spots on his skin where Akihiro is crying silently, but he wasn’t going to let the only person in his life that made him feel like something worth a damn get Reaped. Akio sniffles and the sound is muted by Asahi’s shirt. “Take care of Tabby when I’m gone, okay?” Asahi mutters quietly. There’s an air around the phrase ‘when I’m gone,’ and nobody wants to admit that it doesn’t just mean when he’s gone to go to the Capital. Asahi swallows down the lump in his throat, but doesn’t try to hide the quiver in his voice or the tears sliding down his cheeks. “And tell Noya,” he pauses for a moment. “Tell Noya I’m so sorry.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi discovers who his fellow tributes are and Tsukishima bides his time.

**Chapter Two**

 

**District Seven, The Road to the Capital.**

 

By the time Daichi’s steps foot onto the train, his mind is already racing to think of strategies. He knows there will be a seven day period where he and the other twenty-three tributes will have time to partner up, train for the arena, and be able to eat lavishly for their last meals. He’s already decided to eat every single portion of food that he comes across while staying there, knowing it’d be smarter to build up on calories rather than muscle mass and quicken his already fast metabolism. There’s a reason it was deemed “The Hunger Games” after all, and he doesn’t plan on starving to death within the first couple of days. He figures he got less than three hours to get his mind straight before they reach the Capital, and normally he’d try to hide away in a private area of the train to think, but he spots a table full of food placed in the center of the train car. He stares at the abundance of it all, never having seen so much food all in one place before, the sight is enough to send a low rumbling through his stomach.  _ Fuck it.  _ He thinks, marching straight over and pulling a seat out for himself. He’s about to sit, when he notices his fellow district partner staring at the table as well. He recognizes her, she in the same grade he is in class, and she sits next to Suga in their languages class. She’s smaller than him, and more petite, with short brown hair that barely hangs past the tips of her ears. He didn’t know her name before today, but once she had been Reaped, her name had been shouted out through the entire District and burned into his memory. Michimiya Yui. 

 

Daichi grimaced at his rude behavior, not having spoken to her at all in the short time that he had officially met her today. He tried to make up for it by offering her the seat he had just pulled out for himself, and he watches as a faint blush creeps its way onto her thin cheeks. He gives her a charming smile, nodding to the chair. She ducks her head away from his view, but quickly scurries over to take the seat. She mutters a quiet “thank you” under her breath, and slides her hands down her backside to gather her plain, grey skirt so she can sit. Daichi takes the seat next to her and instantly starts loading food onto his plate, starting with some sort of meat that he doesn’t even recognize, adding along some sides. He glances over to Michimiya, eyeing her still empty plate. She looks down at her hands in her lap, and Daichi hesitates before dropping another clump of the steaming mashed potatoes to his plate. He thinks for a short moment, before stretching his arm out and dropping the side dish onto her plate instead. She looks up in surprise, first looking down at the food on her plate, and then into Daichi’s warm brown eyes. He smiles at her expression, taking another slab of meat and adding it to her plate as well. “It’s smarter to start eating now,” He mentions casually, looking towards the other food options. He takes a ladle and scoops some vegetables onto Michimiya’s plate, before adding some to his own as well. “You’ll want to be well fed before the arena.”

 

The mention of the games is enough to make the girl flinch back as though she’d been hit, but she uncoils herself in the next moment. She watches Daichi as he tears into his piece of meat in front of her, not caring about his lack of table manners as he does so. She picks her fork up carefully, prodding at the vegetables on her plate. “I’m not very hungry,” She says shyly, being sure to keep her eyes focused on the food in front of her. Daichi hums in his throat, nodding to her words. 

 

“Makes sense,” He tells her, gathering up a huge bite of potatoes and some green beans into his spoon. He quickly shovels it into his mouth, and continues speaking. In the back of his mind he can practically hear Suga’s voice complaining about him speaking with him mouth full. “You’re scared,” He continues, ignoring Michimiya’s slightly insulted groan from across him. He keeps shoving food into his mouth, eating as he speaks. “So am I, but we need to be smart about this. Only one of twenty-four tributes gets to return home after this. So you have to think, do you want that to be you, or are you willing to starve to death within the first five days?” He questions her, still not slowing down as he eats. His plate is nearly empty now, and Michimiya thinks over his advice, when one of their two mentors come waltzing in, the noise of the door flying open startling her. Daichi didn’t even flinch, but he stopped where he was, his hand clutching a pair of tongs that held another piece of meat hovered over his plate. 

 

He strutted over to them, hands shoved in the pockets of his pinstriped suit pants. His hair was pulled back from his face with a hairband, showing off the rows of piercings he had along the cartilages of his ears. On his right ear, he had a silver earring dangling from his earlobe. Daichi remembered him as Keishin Ukai, the winner of the 51st games when he was seventeen. His grandfather, Ikkei, had also been a victor of a previous games, but from so long ago that Daichi can’t even remember which year it had been. Daichi hadn’t seen Ukai since he won his games, back then he had a dark brown buzz cut, but other than the newly dyed hair and piercings, he seems to look the same. 

 

The twenty-one year-old eyed the two of them up and down, before sighing and pulling out a chair for himself. He sat down ungracefully, and kicked his feet up onto the table, crossing his ankles over each other. He leaned back in his seat, raising his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. “Well,” He spoke gruffly, clearly not interested in either of them. Daichi gritted his teeth. “Congratu-fucking-lations on being the Reaped.” He swears, causing Michimiya to squirm in her seat uncomfortably. Daichi’s eyes glance back over to her in her discomfort, then he returns to glaring at their so-called “mentor.”

 

Ukai gives a lazy yawn, opening his eyes again to look over at them. He makes eye contact with Daichi, giving him a shit eating grin when he notices that he’s glowering at him. He cocks his head to the side, trying to antagonize him, but Daichi doesn’t play into it. He moves his eyes back to his food, Ukai’s presence is putting a sour taste in his mouth, but he isn’t going to let him ruin his meal. He picks up his fork again and stabs at a chunk of his meat, ripping it off of the bone and shoving it into his mouth. Michimiya herself, also casts her eyes downward, and finally taking heed of Daichi’s earlier advice, takes a small bite of the potatoes on her plate. Daichi smiles to himself, hurrying to finish the last of meal so his plate will be empty before reaching the Capital.

 

“You might want to think about watching the other Reapings,” Ukai mentions offhandedly, still lounging with his feet on the table. He looks at Michimiya from the corner of his eye. “See who you two’ll be up against in there.” Daichi mulls the advice over, swallowing down his bite of food. Narrowing his eyes, he looks over at Ukai.

 

“Where can we watch them?” He asks hesitantly, still unsure about whether or not he wanted to trust this guy. Sure he was a bit of an ass, but he still had to have cared about the tributes even a little bit, right? Otherwise he wouldn’t be here right now, giving him and his district partner a chance.

 

Michimiya’s chest was burning at the fact that Daichi had included her in his question, asking for both of them to watch together. She bites down on her lower lip, debating the pros and cons of partnering up with Daichi within the arena when the time comes. The pros would be, obviously, Daichi being there to protect her. He was strong, with well-built muscle mass from his job cutting lumber in District Seven, and empathetic enough that he would probably not turn her down if she asked to be allies. Though, his strength could also pose as an issue, if towards the end of the games, Daichi would come to his senses and remember that only one of them would make it home alive. She was still naively planning on returning home to her family, but then again, she was just a pastry chef who had no survival skills to rely on. Course, she could learn them in the seven days that would be spent training in the Capital before the games would start. It might be false hope, but it was the only chance she had. 

 

Ukai groaned as he stood from his chair, placing his hands on his lower back as he stretched. He let out a sigh and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his suit, nodding his head for them to follow. Daichi quickly stood, not wanting to waste any of the short amount of time he had by dawdling. He hurried after Ukai, glancing back over his shoulder to see if Michimiya was following. When he saw that she wasn’t and was still seated at the table, he stopped. “Yo,” He called to her, looking at her intensely when she turned to him. “C’mon, we need to see who we’re up against.”

 

Michimiya chewed on her bottom lip awkwardly, but decided it’d probably be in her best interest to listen to Daichi. Slowly, she stood from her chair and smoothed her skirt out with trembling hands, then tucked the chair back into the table politely. Daichi grinned at her when she walked over to him, and held his hand out for her to take. Her cheeks flushed hotly, but she tentatively locked her hand with his, before he dragged her behind him to go find Ukai. 

 

Their mentor was sitting in the next train car over, lounging on a light green loveseat, feet kicked up yet again on the glass coffee table. In his hand, he held the remote to the screen in front of them. He leaned his head back and gave an exasperated sigh when they entered the room, glaring over to them. “Took you long enough,” he grunted in annoyance, causing Daichi to grind down on his teeth. Ukai turns the screen on and all Daichi can hear at first is the loud sound of a crowd cheering, and it takes him a moment to realize what exactly is being shown to him. 

 

It’s a district’s Reaping, and the citizens are all cheering for the tribute who was on stage. Daichi dropped Michimiya’s hand, blood going cold at the realization.

 

“They’re… happy?” She whispered, absolutely horrified at the idea of people actually celebrating the Reaping instead of dreading it. She looked over to Daichi for comfort, but he didn’t seem much better. His face was scrunched up in scrutiny, unable to properly face what he was seeing. 

 

Ukai yawned, bored, and stretched his arms out behind him. He clicked his tongue twice and shrugged while another name was pulled from the bowl. The Capital escort on screen shouted out some random boys name, only to be cut off by someone in the crowded volunteering eagerly before she even had a chance to finish speaking. Daichi watched in horror as a boy, probably the same age as him, sauntered up the stage with an arrogant gait. The volunteer was lean, but had clear muscles showing through the fabric of his tightly fitted dress shirt, and an ugly smirk plastered on his face. When his district’s escort asked for his name, he proudly stated that he was “Oikawa Tooru, your next victor.” and winked into the camera. Daichi sneered in disgust at the tribute, knowing right away this was not somebody he wanted to ever have to interact with. 

 

“This is District One,” Ukai explained blandly, tugging at his earrings as he did so. “A career district. This brand of cockiness is inevitable with such a proud district. These kids spend their lives training for the games, they see competing as some sort of honor.”

 

“Isn’t that illegal though?” Michimiya questions, frowning down at Ukai. “They can’t train for the games before they’re Reaped- or,” she grimaces as she takes a short pause. “Volunteer. I guess.” She says in uncertainty, after just witnessing someone so eager for slaughter that they volunteered themselves up for a one in twenty-four chance of survival. 

 

Ukai shrugs, skipping through the rest of District One’s Reaping. “Peacekeepers tend to look the other way in these districts,” He stops skipping as another district’s town square is shown. Daichi guesses this must be District Two. “It makes the games more interesting for the Capital if there are at least some kids that know what they’re doing.” 

 

Daichi watches in bewilderment as their creepy tiger looking escort reaches into the boy’s bowl and whips out a name. After the name is called out, there’s a short stretch of silence as the camera tries to land on the boy’s face, until a hyena-like laugh rips through the crowd. Michimiya starts next to Daichi, neither of them having expected such a reaction. The laughter continues on for a few more moments, before a boy with messy black hair is yanked from the audience. He has the same look as the one from the district before him, but this one doesn’t seem quite as menacing. Instead he has a sly air around him, and a catlike face. In the back of his mind, Daichi meanly thinks he makes a good pair with the tiger escort, before realizing the kid on screen was no longer laughing. He wore a tight expression now, like he was trying to hide his emotions. He probably was, Daichi realized. The girl that was chosen next was another volunteer and he wondered to himself how suicidal the kids from these districts must be. Michimiya didn’t seem to grasp the concept of people volunteering for such an event either, her hands tightly wound around the fabric of her skirt as she watched Ukai skip onto the next few reapings. 

 

Daichi was hardly paying any attention at this point, but at least there weren’t anymore volunteers after District Two. The faces and names start blurring together as they watch more, some boy with bright orange hair from District Three, a kid with bleached hair and overgrown roots from Four and a strikingly gorgeous girl with glasses and a beauty mark beside him. He couldn’t even remember the faces of the tributes from Five and Six, and his breath gets caught in his throat as Ukai skips through his district entirely. 

 

“You don’t need to see this, right?” He asks with a bored tone. Considering he doesn’t bother waiting for a response before playing the District Eight Reaping, he probably wasn’t really wanting either of them to speak. The image of himself on stage in front of his district is enough to make him lose focus and he misses whoever was chosen from Eight, Nine, and Ten. Though by the time District Eleven comes on screen, he’s shaken the thought from his mind. 

 

He watches as the escort plucks the name from the female’s bowl, eyes on the jewels of her suit. What are those, he wonders, rubies? Are they real? He’s never seen something so gaudy before, even on a Capital citizen. Their own district escort typically wears some sort of outfit that matches with their district. Usually some kind of foliage inspired dress or at the very least something green. 

 

His eyes follow as the young girl slowly makes her way up onto the stage, crying the whole way. His heart lurches in his chest at the sight of her sobbing, but he also inwardly cringes at how weak she looks. She won’t make it past the third day in the arena. 

 

Another name is pulled from the boy’s side and Daichi watches as a the crowd pulls away to reveal a short kid within them. The boy, Nishinoya Yuu the card said his name was, is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but Daichi can spot his underlying fear. Ukai raises his thumb to start skipping onto the final district, but all three of them freeze in place when they hear a strong voice shout “I volunteer as tribute!”

 

The camera wildly pans from the Reaped boy and hurriedly tries to find the volunteer in the crowd. Daichi leans forward and grabs the back of the couch while Ukai slowly lifts his feet off of the table. A man comes into focus, no, just a kid who looks older than he is. He has sort of a wild appearance with his hair pulled back like that and unshaved stubble, but he’s just a teenager. Daichi watches intently as the volunteer meekly pushes himself through the crowd and walks towards the stage. The other boy is still standing stock still in the middle of the two crowds. Just as the older boy passes him, he reaches out quickly and snatches him by the sleeve. The two look at each other for a few moments while the shorter one speaks, then roughly drops his arm again. Whatever Nishinoya has said to him as caused him to look like he’s on the edge of a panic attack, but he continues to march forward. When he makes his way to his escort, she shoves the microphone towards him and demands his name. He whispers it too softly for anyone to hear and she shoves the mic under his nose and makes him say it again. “Uh, um, A-Azumane Asahi.” He says his name is, and the escort looks positively thrilled as she thrusts his hand into the air. 

 

Unlike the three volunteers from the career districts, this boy does not look pleased to be in this position. In fact, he looks mildly terrified and confused with his own choice. Daichi stares hard at the screen in front of him, focusing on what looks like the most interesting tribute within their games. 

  
  


**District Twelve**

 

Tsukishima sits idly within his private train car, chin resting in his palm as he watches the trees pass by through his window. His glasses slide just a bit down the bridge of his nose before stopping, and he sighs in annoyance as he pushes them back up his face. The pair he owns does nothing for him, the fit is too large to rest comfortably on his head and the prescription has since been slightly outgrown. Though, it was better than nothing he supposes. 

 

He replays the scene of his Reaping through his mind once more, thinking back to the sound of his name ringing out through his district. He remembers Yamaguchi’s fingers reaching out for him before he left the crowd, and he remembers exactly how he ignored him. A slight pang of guilt rings through his chest, but he knew he would have to keep up an image that the Capital could brand. He’d rather be the apathetic one than the weakling who couldn’t muster up the courage to say goodbye to his only friend. 

 

Besides, Yamaguchi would be fine without him. Sure the boy was shy, but he was also kind and friendly as well. He could probably make some new friends without Kei there to hold him back. 

 

He gritted his teeth together angrily as he thought of never returning to his home and friend again. He ducked his head and pushed his fingers under his glasses and against his eyes. He shouldn’t be crying so close to entering the Capital, he couldn’t afford to be seen like that. The light from outside suddenly vanished, and he opened his eyes to see where it had gone. The train had entered into the Capital and they were simply driving through the tunnel that would lead him inside. He felt his throat start to close up with anxiety and he balled his hands into fists, digging his badly bitten nails into the soft flesh of his palm. 

 

Outside the train, he could hear the quiet roaring from the citizens waiting to greet him as he entered the terminal and he stood from his seat. As the cheering grew louder, the train finally emerged from the tunnel, exposing the hundreds of people cheering for their last tributes to officially join their city. He watched from the windows as their faces zipped by, carefully trying not to let his disgust from their appearances break through onto his expression. He needed to seem uncaring, like their terrifying screams of joy did not send shivers down his back. He pushes his glasses up once again and left the car, trying his best to repress his building panic and prepare himself for his upcoming week of training. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter came out way later than I had hoped it would LMAO 
> 
> My excuse is that I lost motivation, but I’ve found some of it again. Hope you liked the chapter! Please leave a comment telling me what you think, comments really help build motivation to continue writing chapters. Thank yoooou


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